Songs of a Lonely Heart
by Navana
Summary: Gilraen, widow of Arathorn, begins to see the wear of time, of the weariness of her heart. It is in the sorrow of Arathron's passing she comes to realize she lives. ElrondEstelGilraenTwins
1. Chapter One: Unknowing

To and fro the boughs of the trees waved, their leaves whimsically dancing in the breeze as it passed. A soft hush was over the world, allowing only the murmurs of the babbling stream to sing into the fresh summer air, so rich in the lush aroma of the blossomed flowers. The elvenrefuge of Imladris found a tranquil peace beneath the golden rays of sunlight that gleamed from the rooftops and over the shimmering falls. From beneath the trees that bent over as if to listen, a soft song came, the melodic voice reveling in the serenity about her.

Gilraen, daughter of Dirheal, sang gently into the swaying breeze as it blew through her long locks. In her lap sat a small boy, no more than six, listening intently to her tale.

"_Eärendil was a mariner  
that tarried in Arvernien;  
he built a boat of timber felled  
in Nimbrethil to journey in;  
her sails he wove of silver fair,  
of silver were her lanterns made,  
her prow was fashioned like a swan,  
and light upon her banners laid…_"

Gleefully he twirled his mother's long tresses in his slender hands, laughing softly as he did so often.

"_…for ever still a herald on  
an errand that should never rest  
to bear his shining lamp afar,  
the Flammifer of Westernesse._"

As her song drew to a close, the boy leapt up, his small hand taking her delicate fingers within his grasp. "_Nana…_1 Can we go to the library?"

Gilraen could hardly contain her soft giggle as she watched Estel nearly beaming with joy. "Ay… _Ion nin…_2 But of course…" The small bridge the sat upon was only a short distance to the great library within Rivendell, though she laughed merely for the fact that they had spent most of the morning there as well. Commonly it was so easy to forget for her on days like this… for everything was at peace.

Finally she began to step from the bridge, the small boy skipping before her. _How blissful he is now… I do not even believe he remembers…_

It was not the wonder of the day, but more, the absence of the darkness of the past in his blue-gray, fathomless eyes that brought awe to Gilraen as she followed Estel down the path; her mood sullen, yet pleased to be in his company.

The ceaseless radiance that incandesced from his crystalline depths reflected in her eyes as he frolicked gleefully over the smooth garden path. It would have been so easy for the fair widow of Arathorn to surrender to the sorrow within her heart, to let the absence of her beloved, the father of Aragorn, to consume her. But she would not, she had to be strong for their son. Without him it was so hard to wake in the morning, to breathe in the wondrous winds as they gusted through the tapestries that shut out the morning's radiance and whirled through her northward room in the Last Homely House. Condemned to live alone in paradise.

But she gladly took it, she embraced the emptiness that gripped at her heart, and let it push her forward… for Estel.

"Good morn, Lady Gilraen," a soft voice carried through the air, gently greeting her. "And to you, Estel." With a broad, wiry smile, Lord Elrond, Half-elven, Lord of Rivendell, stood in the entrance to the library, his circlet sending refractions of light to dance upon the leaves that scattered themselves upon the earthen path.

Faintly, Gilraen returned the grin. "Good morn, Lord Elrond," she mused as she bowed slightly as she always did in his presence.

Beside her, she felt Estel release her fingers from his slender grasp as he ran to the Elflord, who took him with welcoming arms. "_Mae govannen, Estel._3"

"_Mae govannen, Ada4._"

Inwardly, Gilraen marveled at the joy that the two of them shared. Though Elrond was not Estel's true father, he had gladly taken the empty roll in his life. Both of them knew of Estel, or more, Aragorn's unspoken plight, yet neither of them let it get in the way of embracing the innocent wonder the boy held.

"What have you been doing this fine day?"

As they pulled slightly apart, Elrond's usually stoic expression melted away to a genuine jubilant visage. Likewise, Estel's smile beamed back to him.

"_Nana_ and I have been reading about Earendil," the small boy gleefully informed him. "And she sang me his song about… about…"

With a fleeting glance to Gilraen, who looked on with a soft joy to the two of them, then back to Estel as he softly hushed him. "I am sure you will remember the whole of it in due time, as you always do." Tenderly, he placed his thin, time worn hand upon the boy's slender shoulder. "Elladan and Elrohir are within, and I am sure the would welcome your company."

Anxiously, he turned his gaze to his mother. "May I go?"

"But of course, my Estel," Gilraen told him as she stepped before him.

"_Hannon le5, Nana a Ada,_" Estel graciously tanked them both, embracing each in turn before happily dashing within into the company of Elrond's twin sons.

Elrond and Gilraen watched his fleet steps disappear up the flight of stairs. A brief silence fell between the Elflord and the elegant lady.

Stiffly, Elrond sighed, his intuition reading to Gilraen's deeper thoughts. "I asked Elladan and Elrohir to wait for him," he admitted. "For I know as well as they what importance this day holds… for both of you."

No matter how far she pushed the thought away, it only managed to peruse her consciousness further. Today was the day Arathorn was struck down. So bitterly the remorse nagged at her already weary heart.

"He doesn't know, does he?" the fair Elflord inquired after the boy.

Down the long winding labyrinth of memory she strayed, her gray-blue eyes reflecting her distance. In the abyss of loneliness there was no jubilation, no comfort for her mourning heart. Yet, through the storms that broke upon the walls of her heart, tossing the seas of emotions and crashing the wake of its endless tied over the small vessel of hope that drifted over its quaking waters, she managed to ever-so-slightly shake her head.

"Mourn," he compassionately mused as he took in her distraught gaze. "But do not allow for darkness to take you. Arathorn wished for you to live on, and he would not have you fall away to the shadows of despair. Not while there is hope." Embrace the memories… but do not live in the past…

Far within the wisdom of his keen gaze, Gilraen found the empathy he felt for her. She had come here for Aragorn's safety, for him to be given the means to become who they both knew he was born to be; who Arathorn knew he was born to me. Solemnly, she nodded. "Hannon le, Milord… Your words are a great comfort."

Thoughtfulness turned the corners of his lips. It was not by wisdom alone he had come to know the strength of comfort. "You are always welcome, Lady Gilraen."

The profound relationship between the two of them spoke without words. She owed him everything, and ever would she be grateful for his kindness. He felt a debt to her, the mother of the one who would unite all that laid scattered and the rising opposition to the growing Shadow. Neither spoke too much nor too little as the silence fell gracefully between them like the gentle drift of a silken feather to the earth.

Far above, the sound of rich laughter bounded through the air, muted by the hush of falls and flowing water; the mirth the three brothers shared shattering the seemingly unbreakable quiet. At the sound of their voices, Elrond and Gilraen both turned their gaze towards the doorway, the laughter waning as the soft whispers of their conversing voices replaced it.

"Go, Lord Elrond invited her. "Take what time you need… We will watch after Aragorn."

"Hannon le…" Gilraen mused, bowing slightly as she stepped away to leave. "You have been of great help, Milord."

Sullenly, he nodded. "I am glad to do so."

1Nana. short for Naneth. S. Mother.  
2Ion nin. S. My son.  
3Mae govannen. S. Well met.  
4Ada. short for Adar. S. Father.  
5Hannon le. S. Thank you.


	2. Chapter One: To Endure

Soundless as the decent of a flake of snow to the earth, Gilraen sat within the engrossing company of an old reminiscence. Before her subconscious danced dazzling, untamed fields of golden blades of summer grass. Sweet, intoxicating aromas of a world alive in splendor entranced her, drawing the fair lady further and further into her blissful revelry. As the rising sun over the vast Misty Mountains, he came to her, an irreplaceable grin gracing his worn features of worry and doubt. Neither could she see in his eyes as he placed himself beside her, brushing away a loose wisp of her hair behind her ear. No words fell between them, their two hearts speaking far beyond the grasp of words as they pulsed as one. He was the breath in her lungs, the very essence of her being.

So suddenly, the brilliant day was gone. The gold in the fields, the pungent scent of flowers, the marvelous jubilation that radiated from his smile all dissipated into a single marring memory, as if the sun itself fell from the sky, leaving only the empty darkness. All she could see, everything she could think of became the vision of his slain body being laid to rest within the cold earth; the chill of the winter's air nipping at her unfeeling fingertips as she knelt in utter silence beside the tomb that bore all her love, all her joy. Desolate land scattered itself beyond her feet, her heart barren like the earth itself in the winter's frost. He was no longer caressing away the drifty clouds from her once glorious days. In his absence, just as the diminished sun, there was only darkness.

Devoid of levity, her heart was cast asunder to the ceaseless void that ravished the once marvelous heavens into an endless night searching for the rebirth of day. About her descended the outstretched hands of lonely sorrow as her slender frame trembled with inescapable sobs.

"_Do no weep, for the fate of Ennor hangs in the balance of despair and hope,_" the words of Lord Elrond echoed from far away memory. "_Hope we have… And Arathorn would not have you live in the shadow of his passing…_"

Though through her utter emptiness the words brought comfort, no comfort could ever replace the once whole feeling in her heart, which was no more. No one to rest her head upon, only the arms of hope and faith to cradle her as the saline droplets spilled down her immaculate cheeks - the same arms that carried her from her own sorrow to come to Imladris. Not for herself, but for the sake of all. Her purpose lay in that: the undying flame of hope that swelled within Aragorn. their son.

Trembling yet, she fought to dry her tears as she lifted herself from the earth beneath her. This was her task: to endure.


	3. Chapter One: Bittersweet

Stars began to blink into existence overhead, speckling the heavens with familiar shapes and wondrous figures. From above descended the light they gave to earth, casting an ethereal glow upon the gardens of Rivendell. Softly, the trees rustled their leaves, sending a rhythm into the air. Through the branches blew a gentle eight of wind, playing a wordless song to the boughts' beat. Effortlessly went the somber evening melody. Some distance away whispered the falls, allowing the world to be consumed by serenity. Above the white sound of the night's musings, a single humming voice wandered amongst the eves of the trees, dancing whimsically over the grass laden with dew. Bearing a grace far beyond the count of years, Elrond sauntered through his beloved home. He knew of the sorrows that pressed his house, though, it was but added to the same deep wounds that would likely never fully heal in his heart. Though his thought bore such a solemn tone, he continued to let the soothing song slide from his lips.

_"Earendil dwells here no more,  
The seas bore him far away.  
Walking on a distant shore,  
Or yet asail, none can say.  
Yet so remains his great tale  
Bringing hope to striving minds.  
So tarries he ageless now.  
As hope through history winds…"_

Faintly, a glimmer was in his eyes of dreaming distantly of ages long ago. Time seemed to slide away through his grasp. Once he would have found joy in the verse he himself had written, however, the solemnity of the day weighted heavily in the arch of his brow. How greatly he desired to lift the sorrow he knew was upon Gilraen. In years long passed he too had felt the loss she had suffered, yet he was given the comfort of knowing she awaited him on the distant shores. Her one hope was in a small boy who the both knew was both destined and doomed for a greater purpose.

_Estel… May the Valar guide you on your path, for you shall not always dwell in unknowing bliss…_

Regret flooded him. _Never can anyone dwell forever in bliss…_

For much of the day he had evaded the though: the memory that taught him the comfort he shared with the Lady Gilraen. However in the gaze of his children, in the gardens in which he wandered, and even in the rise and fall of the golden sun, he saw her. _Celebrian… vanimelda…1_ Throughout all consciousness wove her brilliant smile, bringing with it a bittersweet comfort. 

Before him in a small clearing, bathed in moonlight, stood a figure chiseled from stone. Upon a pillar spun with a simple pattern, an awe-inspiring lady stood, one hand drawn close to her heart and the other with its palm facing outward. Time had torn away some of the smoothness of her gentle contour and vines draped over her, yet he could still see his beloved wife's likeness engraved into the statue. So long ago had he placed the statue in the secluded clearing.

_Between us likes the sundering seas… _Longing filled Elrond even more as he lived his hand and slid his palm into the cold outstretched hand of the statue. _One day, after all my duties have passed, I will come to thee…_

Yet, a small comfort was had in knowing that one day, they would be reunited. Above them still gleamed the same stars, the same moonlight still lit their faces. Not entirely was she gone from him.

1Vanmimelda. S. Fair-love.


	4. Chapter One: Slain

Beneath the outstretched arms of the great willow tree, Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel sat. The boy, who had long ago set sail upon the seas of slumber, had nestled his head into Elrohir's sturdy shoulder; a mess of brunette tresses spilling over the young Elflord's elaborately embroidered tunic. Both twins had passed the lethargic hours with contemplative silence. In Elladan's vibrant eyes, a sorrowful tragedy played, ceaseless and encumbering…

_They had risen early that day, the call of the dawn drawing them from slumber to ride. According to Arathorn, they were nearing the southern tip of the forest of Mirkwood. Brisk winds blew from the west, giving them greater speed in their journey to Rhun._

But a speedy course proved to be a treacherous venture. Near mid-day, they were skirting the forest, fully aware of the dangers within, when the shadows of the brush produced a roving band of orcs. The air was full of feral calls and the clamor of swords to shields. For some time, the mere three of them fended off the tide.

Three fine swordsmen and time-worn travelers could have the fortune of the lucky or of the damned. Never had the idea of any of them dieing in battle crossed their minds. However, in a single instant, all their fortunes turned ill.

Without warning, an array of archers emerged from the bushes. Arrows fell from the heavens into the thinning fray.

"Arathorn!" Elladan's voice called over all else, the sound resonating in his thoughts as if he had yelled into a vast cavern. But it was too late. IN the midst of three foes, the Man turned to strike another attacker, unhearing of the warning. Brightly did his blade gleam as it sliced the dusty air.

Time became a crawl. The falling arrow, its black fletchings guiding its path, came upon the warrior, striking him with fatal force in his eyes, once so brilliant and clear. Beneath him, his legs surrendered. His hands slipped from the hilt of his sword.

Another of the line of Isildur had fallen: Arathorn was slain.

"Elladan," came Elrohir's voice from over the mass of orcs. "Elladan." It was not urgent nor strained from battle.

"Elladan!" Elrohir's hand took his brother's shoulder. "_Gwenuar_1, what is wrong?"

At last returned to the present, the rich night air and the fragrant flowers all about them, Elladan shook his head. "Nothing… Merely thinking…"

Elrohir could read the unrest within him, but knew better than to press for answers. More than that, he suspected he knew what it was he thought of, for his minds was not far from the same thoughts. "We should take Estel to bed before he catches cold."

"Indeed."

1Gwenuar. S. Brother.


	5. Chapter One: Estel o Edian

Gently, Elrohir shut the door behind him, suddenly sadly aware of the boy's warmth absent from his shoulder. From his lips, a soft sigh fell. Both twins looked to the other with knowing, comforting eyes. Neither finding words to speak, they descended from the stairs out towards their room soundlessly.

At the foot of the stairs, they were greeted by a surprise. "He is asleep then," the Lord of Imladris spoke quietly.

Elladan nodded, the solemn look still written into his features.

Peacefully, for now," Elrohir added.

Elrond took the news with a somber smile. "Good… He deserves rest… for the time will come when such blissfulness will not be for Aragorn…" _Such is the tragic fate of his blood… Idh, estel o edian…_1

1Idh, estel o edian. S. Rest, hope of Men.


End file.
